Thomanerchor/Reize - Bach, St John Passion, 28 March 2024

St Thomas’s Church, Leipzig

Bach: St John Passion, BWV 245 (first version, 1724)

Elisabeth Breuer (soprano)

Jakub Jósef Orliński (countertenor)

Daniel Johannsen (tenor)

Benjamin Appl (bass: Christus)

Tomáš Král (bass: arias)

Thomanerchor Leipzig

Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra

Andreas Reize (conductor)

 

At Good Friday Vespers, 1724, in St Nicholas’s Church, Leipzig, the city’s new Thomaskantor, Johann Sebastian Bach, led the first performance of his St John Passion. Three hundred years later, on Good Friday, Bach’s masterwork will return to the same church, performed by the latest incarnation of the composer’s own choir and an orchestra closely related, conducted by the twelfth successor to Bach as Kantor, Andreas Reize. I attended not that performance, but one the previous evening of Maundy Thursday, at the more customary St Thomas’s; it is close enough, I think, to count, without troubling ourselves with complications of lunar versus solar calendars. (For what little it may be worth, the Gregorian calendar had been in use there for a generation.)

Properly enough, the work was given in Bach’s first version of 1724 (strictly, a reconstruction, the score having been lost). It is not so very different from what we usually hear – considerable revisions were made in 1725, mostly reversed in 1749 – but there are a few interesting differences, all of which (I think) had me sit up and notice. The presence of violas d’amore in place of the later muted violins is a case in point. It would be possible to go on at great length about this, and about changes made in the 1730s too, but this is not the place to do so; nor am I a Bach scholar. Details can readily be found elsewhere. Suffice it to say that one of the biggest changes for 1725, loss of the opening chorus, was, Gott sei Dank, not an issue here. 

And so, yes, we heard those cries ‘Herr, unser Herrscher,’ less piercing than usual, given the strange acoustic (and seating arrangement) of the Thomaskirche. This is a church, not a concert hall; hearing the performance from the organ gallery above, and not seeing it at all is an unusual experience. It took my ears a good while to adjust, and I suspect it took the performers, even those accustomed to the space, a while to do so too, given how differently it operates with a full audience/congregation. (It is worth adding that this was a concert, not a service, although it was briefly introduced by Pastor Martin Hundertmark.) Whether the extremely fast – I have never heard so fast – tempo adopted by Reize made sense in these circumstances, or indeed any, I am sceptical, but the turbulence and imploring nature of this figurative curtain-raiser eventually came across. When we heard the words ‘Zeig uns durch deine Passion’, it felt as though that revelation was indeed being prepared. Moreover, choral diction here and throughout were, not least given the immense challenges, highly commendable. 

Tempi were in general very fast indeed; this is probably the norm now, though I struggle to understand why. Obsessive fear of ‘Romanticism’ rapidly shades into dampening of message—at least for some of us. The exceptions were interesting. For instance, the choral ‘Bist du nicht seiner Jünger einer?’ started slowly and accelerated: it certainly made dramatic sense. The moderate tempo to ‘Sei gegüßet, lieber Jüdenkönig!’ was most welcome too, permitting us to hear orchestral detail, in addition to being verbally and dramatically meaningful. Especially in the second part, a greater sense of harmonic rhythm was imparted to such writing, greatly to its and our advantage. As death neared, there was some sense of transformation, of Johannine predestination working its fatal, necessary way. I wondered whether the lack of bite in the chorus in which the high priests tell Pilate the inscription should read not that Christ was king of the Jews, but that he had said he was, was deliberate, an attempt to draw from a sting that now, for obvious reasons, is received problematically. Dramatically, it seemed a pity, but it is understandable. 

Throughout, the Thomanerchor, on home territory in every sense, impressed in what is doubtless a highlight of its year, yet by the same token is very much part of that church year, reliant on and emerging from weekly cantatas. The small solos drawn from its ranks were excellent too. When Reize and the singers drew attention to particular chorale harmonies, underlining subtle yet unmistakable, the effect and consequences were always welcome. Contrast between chorales was also telling. Whether one cared for Johannes Lang’s elaborate organ, stanza-length interpolations between stanzas, would be a matter of taste; on their own terms, they were highly accomplished. Lang even did something similar, albeit more of a lead-in, for the return to the A section in the opening chorus. 

Daniel Johannsen did an heroic job as both Evangelist and solo tenor. At times, quite ‘operatic’ – the first recitative suggested Loge – his approach was always deeply rooted in the text. The words ‘denn es war kalt’ had due, cold bite, for instance, preparing the way for Peter to warm his hands. Peter’s denial and bitter weeping made their point with heightened drama, the following aria (Johannsen’s also) heard in aftershock, yet with continuing bitterness, something akin to ‘Baroque’ expressionism. Benjamin Appl’s Christus was, unsurprisingly, warmer in tone, the natural bloom of his voice well suited to the part, though it varied too, ‘Siehe ist deine Mutter!’ indicative of weariness in a good sense. Bass soloist Tomáš Král presented a fine contrast and complement, his singing beautifully and meaningfully coloured without mannerism, the arioso ‘Betrachte, meine Seel’ a particular highlight. Jakub Jósef Orliński sounded more at home, at least on this occasion, in his second aria than his first. There was a ‘purity’ to the second that did not preclude intense, inner drama. Elisabeth Breuer’s bell-like soprano was likewise projected more successfully in her second aria; how the dissonances ground on the word ‘Zähren’ in a fine collaboration with the musicians around her. The Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra was always supportive, though rarely to the foreground. When its strings had opportunity to show their cultivation, they took it, as in the extraordinary bass number with chorus, ‘Eilt, ihr angefochtnen Seelen’. 

It was, though, principally the choir’s – and Evangelist’s – evening. And above all Bach’s. There is something both indestructible and infinitely adaptable to his music that will perhaps always remain a mystery, though many have attempted explanation. Even in the case of performances and performance ‘styles’ from which one feels personally distanced, it still miraculously speaks. If we are still here in another 300 years, perhaps even if we are not, Bach will endure.

Happy New Year!

Thomanerchor/Gewandhaus Orchestra/Michael Gläser - Bach, St Matthew Passion, 17 April 2014

St Thomas’s Church, Leipzig

Ute Selbig (soprano, Weib des Pilatus)

Damien Guillon (counter-tenor)

Martin Petzold (Evangelist)

Martin Lattke (tenor)

Panajotis Iconomou (Christus)

Thomas Laske (bass, Pilatus)

Max Gläser (Ancilla I)

Johannes Hildebrnadt (Ancilla II)

Ansgar Führer (Testis I)

Paul Stammkötter (Testis II)

Julius Sattler (Pontifex I)

Friedrich Hammel (Pontifex II)

Kien Dô Trung (Judas)

Georg Schütze (Petrus)

Thomanerchor Leipzig

Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra

Michael Gläser (conductor)

To hear the St Matthew Passion in the Thomaskirche on Maundy Thursday – Good Friday will be Parsifal day – could hardly fail to be a moving experience. Though a concert rather than a liturgical performance, there is enough of the Church, past and present, Body of Christ and bricks and mortar, to ensure that it is not merely a concert as generally understood. And St Thomas’s Church itself ensures that no performance, however astringent its intention, can fail to exude a degree of warmth. (Those seeking alleged ‘authenticity’ would do well to ponder the entirely ‘inauthentic’ sound, let alone experience, offered by the concert hall, let alone the clinical quality and distortions of a recording.)

Michael Gläser’s tempi were often very fast, sometimes absurdly so, but equally capable of convincing and surprising. (Wherever does this bizarre obsession with despatching the supreme masterpiece of Western art as quickly as possible come from?) Although the great opening chorus was in principle too fast, the security of the bass continuo line ensured that it maintained coherence. Just as importantly, the outstanding choral singing, here and elsewhere, ensured that all was not lost. The cries of ‘Wohin?’ were properly questioning, drawing us into the drama that was to unfold. Even in the case of the extremely fast tempo adopted for ‘Ja nicht auf das Fest,’ orchestral depth and power maintained more than a degree of the necessary gravity. Moreover, such tempi were not entirely predictable: that for ‘Wo willst du, dass wir dir bereiten’ was far more relaxed, indeed in context surprisingly slow. The hissing sibilants of ‘Herr, bin ichs?’ a little later told their own story. And, though again in reality simply too fast, ‘O Mensch, bewein dein Sünde groß, the great chorale prelude with which the first part closes, still made its expressive point. Gläser really ought, though, to listen to and to consider the great performances of the past, both in Leipzig and elsewhere; so much is lost here when ploughing through it as quickly as possible, however excellent the choir and orchestra. Likewise, if the vicious, spiteful crowd truly made its presence felt in ‘Der du den Tempel Gottes zerbirchst’, ‘Wahrlich, dieser ist Gottes Sohn gewesen’ sounded oddly inconsequential. In so consciously deflated a delivery, there was no sense whatsoever of what should be a world-shattering recognition. Furtwängler here remains supreme – and if we cannot expect his like today, we ought to be able to expect more than that. The final chorus, however, even if it did not move as it does with, say Klemperer or Richter, concluded in a fashion that was more than merely matter-of-fact, leaving one wishing only for silence.

The vocal soloists were not the most impressive bunch, though they had their moments. Ute Selibig sang with sincerity and quasi-instrumental agility, although in, for instance, ‘Ich will dir meine Herze schenken’, the wonderful Gewandhaus woodwind shone more brightly still in that respect. Selbig’s subtle ornamentation convinced too. And when she was permitted a more sensible tempo, as in ‘Er hat uns allen wohlgetan … Aus Liebe will mein Heiland sterben,’ there were signs of something more profound than we generally heard. Bar a few moments of harshness, Damien Guillon’s counter-tenor impressed on its own terms, but it is difficult to understand a preference for a counter-tenor here over a female voice. Christa Ludwig, Janet Baker, et al., not only sound ‘right’, but have the consoling warmth that words and music demand. ‘Erbarme dich’, however, benefited from a perfectly-judged violin solo (Christian Funke). It was, moreover, permitted to unfold at a reasonable tempo. Martin Lattke’s tenor solos did not make a huge impression; Martin Petzold’s Evangelist sometimes veered towards caricature – spitting ‘spieten’ once is fine, but twice... – but at least he offered detailed attention to the text. Panajotis Iconomou’s Christus was disturbingly woolly and unfocused in the first part, intonation sometimes drifting, but he recovered strongly in the second. His first appearance therein, ‘Du sagest. Doch sage ich euch…’ was resonant and focused. Thomas Laske’s performance arguably headed in the opposite direction, though he was indubitably hampered by absurdly fast tempi for both of his arias in the second part, a sense of struggle in ‘Mache dich’ entirely absent. His interjections as Pilate, however, were uniformly excellent.

Thomanerchor/Gewandhaus/Schwarz - St John Passion (1749 version), 21 April 2011

St Thomas's Church, Leipzig

Sibylla Rubens (soprano)
Marie-Claude Chappuis (contralto)
Johannes Chum (Evangelist and tenor arias)
Stephan Loges (Christ)
Hans-Christoph Begemann (bass arias)

Choir of St Thomas’s, Leipzig
Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra
Gotthold Schwarz (conductor)


The Thomanerchor’s Maundy Thursday and Good Friday Passion performances alternate annually between the St John and the St Matthew. This year, for a little variety, Bach’s 1749 (fourth) version of the former was presented. I do not recall hearing it before; there is little, however, about which to become excited, the most noteworthy changes being a matter of alterations to three aria texts. ‘Ich folge dir gleichfalls’ has some changes, arguably reflecting a less Baroque or Pietistic pictorial sensibility, likewise ‘Betrachte, meine Seel’. The text for ‘Erwäge, wie sein blutgefärbter Rücken’ is entirely replaced, the following words providing the new text:

Mein Jesu, ach! Dein schmerzhaft bitter Leiden
bringt tausend Freuden,
es tilgt der Sünden Not.
Ich sehe zwar mit vielen Schrecken
den heiligen Leib mit Blute decken;
doch muss mir dies auch Lust erwecken,
es macht mich frei von Höll und Tod.

Georg Christoph Biller, the Thomaskantor, had been due to conduct; illness led to his replacement by Gotthold Schwarz. Schwarz’s approach was clearly ‘period’-informed, but not oppressively so, and was capable of variation. For instance, the great opening chorus was taking at a fast-ish though not absurd tempo; more importantly, the choir’s cries of ‘Herr’ pierced to the core against a properly turbulent backdrop as furnished by the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra. I feared the worst when the ‘B’ section was terminated quite abruptly – always, to be fair, a difficult return to bring off convincingly – but other phrase- and section-endings were rounded off more naturally, for instance Christ’s recitative at the end of no.2. Likewise, chorales sounded unhurried – at least by today’s preposterous standards – and pauses were usually employed at ends of phrases. I was certainly impressed at the way Bach’s myriad of harmonic subtleties shone through – though one might well ask, how could it not? – in a chorale such as ‘Wer hat dich so geschlagen…?’ I did wonder, however, at the precedence of words over line in the penultimate line of ‘Christus, der uns selig macht’. Certainly the meaning of ‘verlacht, verhöhnt, und verspielt’ came across vividly, but the effect was arguably disruptive. The climactic chorus, ‘Ruht wohl,’ maintained its noble dignity, even if Schwarz’s imagination was somewhat less all-encompassing than that of a conductor such as Eugen Jochum (still my first choice for a recording).

An undeniable ‘rightness’ to the sound of boys’ voices was illustrated throughout. I do not mean to imply that mixed voices should not sing the work; I am happy to leave such fundamentalism to the ‘authenticke’ brigade, though commercial self-interest tends to render its practitioners oddly reluctant to employ what should surely be the ‘historically informed’ voices. Nevertheless, it is something very special to hear Bach’s own choir and – more or less – orchestra in his own church on Maundy Thursday, not least whilst beholding, as I did, Bach’s own countenance immediately opposite in one of St Thomas’s beautiful stained-glass windows – and that of Mendelssohn a little closer to the organ loft, in which the performances take place. It would, moreover, be ludicrous to claim that women’s voices sound the same as boys’, or indeed that a more mature chorus sounds as fresh as a youthful choir. Different choirs are possessed of different qualities. There was, moreover, no wanting of vigour in the turba choruses, Bach’s searing chromaticism proving as terrifying as anything in Tristan or Parsifal, the bloodlust if anything all the more chilling when expressed by young voices. ‘Sei gegrüßet, lieber Jüdenkönig!’ was, I am happy to report, taken at a relatively sedate tempo, allowing the words their full force. Bach’s writing, the Gospel itself, and the choral singing combined to impart an almost overwhelming sense of predestination as the performance progressed.

The question of soloists might be thought vexed, though only really if one adopts a fundamentalist approach: better to have professional soloists drawn from outside the choir than to have boys struggle, though it would be interesting on occasion to hear the soprano and alto arias taken by trebles. (Members of the choir did take smaller parts, such as the Maid and Peter.) Johannes Chum was an excellent Evangelist. Neither words nor music were unduly privileged; instead, one not only noted but experienced the miracle of Bach’s alchemic combination. Occasional strain with respect to the higher notes in his range was put to expressive use rather than jarring. Rainer Trost was listed in the programme booklet as the soloist for the tenor arias, but they were also sung by Chum. Though I should have been interested to hear the former, Chum proved an able replacement. It was not his fault, for instance, that a warmer, more Romantic string sound was not forthcoming in ‘Ach, mein Sinn’; nor, I am sure, was it the fault of the Gewandhaus Orchestra. The same could be said of the somewhat underpowered violin sound in ‘Mein Jesu, ach!’ Some ‘period’ practices die hard, alas. The entire continuo group proved distinguished throughout, however, not least David Petersen’s fruity bassoon.

Stephan Loges was a richly toned, expressive yet dignified Christ. Bach’s writing here lacks the celebrated string halo of Christ’s words in the St Matthew Passion, yet Loges ensured that one never felt the loss. Sibylla Rubens did not have a great deal to do as the soprano soloist. (What a contrast with the St Matthew!) Nevertheless, she proved radiantly beautiful in the pain of ‘Zerfließe, mein Herze’. Marie-Claude Chappuis was warmly expressive as contralto soloist. ‘Von deinen Stricken’ was more urgent than reflective, but that was doubtless Schwarz’s decision. Chappuis employed considerable ornamentation upon her da capo. Excellent cello and woodwind playing should also be noted. She navigated well the terrible contrasts of ‘Es ist vollbracht!’, aided by splendid solo gamba playing from Thomas Fritzsch. It seemed heartbreakingly apt that, by this hour, darkness had fallen in Leipzig too, Bach’s window image no longer visible. Hans-Christoph Begemann generally sounded more comfortable as Pilate than in the bass arias, where his tone tended towards the cloudy, in unfortunate contrast with Loges.

This was, however, not only an impressive but a moving performance. I can conceive of no better Holy Week observance.

St John Passion - Thomanerchor/Biller, 10 April 2009

St Thomas’s Church, Leipzig

Sibylla Rubens (soprano)
Matthias Rexroth (counter-tenor)
Maximilian Schmitt (tenor: arias)
Marcus Ullmann (tenor: Evangelist)
Friedemann Röhlig (bass: Christus)
Gotthold Schwarz (bass: arias)

Choir of St Thomas’s Church, Leipzig
Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra
Georg Christoph Biller (conductor)

From the outset, it was clear that this would be a far more satisfying performance than that of the St Matthew Passion a week earlier, also in Leipzig. There was an urgency to the great opening chorus, ‘Herr, unser Herrscher,’ with plangent oboes and driving strings preparing the way for choral imploring, but urgency is far more appropriate here than in the parallel number in the St Matthew, and in any case Georg Christoph Biller’s direction lacked Riccardo Chailly’s rigidity. It was also immediately apparent how the acoustic of the Thomaskirche was far more forgiving than the Gewandhaus to what remained in various respects an ‘authentically’ minded performance. Whereas Riccardo Chailly’s elimination of vibrato had merely made the strings, especially the violins, sound thin and ugly, here the same Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra, partly as a result of a more flexible approach, was possessed of a considerably greater tonal bloom. When, in ‘Ach, mein Sinn,’ the strings did minimise vibrato, they sounded far less abrasive. However, in ‘Eilt, ihr angefochneten Seelen,’ they provided a consoling warmth that was just the ticket.

Those who claim to be reproducing the realities of Bach’s performances, or even his wishes, would do well to consider the importance of acoustics, quite apart from the matter of a liturgical setting. Wilhelm Furtwängler, excoriated by born again authenticists, was keenly aware of such issues, as well he might have been, given his period at the helm of this very orchestra. In 1929, the year after leaving Leipzig, Furtwängler wrote in his notebook, concerning performance practice (as he would never have called it):

It appears not yet to be clear that the question of whether one should employ sixteen or four first violins, a choir of thirty or three hundred people, is a question of the space in which the performance takes place (the question of whether this be chamber music or no). That the acoustic of the Thomaskirche – as in any church – is different from that of the [Berlin] Philharmonie, and that therefore not only the forces must be different, but also that the dynamics must be handled differently, seems to be unknown. That the church, with its particular acoustic designed much more for linear effects, copes much less well with dynamic variation, and thus with variation within the individual performance, than the concert hall, which exposes the sound with ruthless clarity, seems to be unknown, although it must be known that Bach wrote his Passions, etc., for immediate, practical performance in the Thomaskirche.

The ‘ruthless clarity’ of the Gewandhaus had equally required a softening of sound, which sadly remained absent, and which the church setting provided of its own accord. Then, of course, there was the undeniable special nature of hearing Bach’s passion in the Thomaskirche on Good Friday, not admittedly in the context of a service, but as a concert that proceeded almost as if this were a liturgical performance. The performers were all positioned on the balcony immediately beneath the organ loft, at the back of the church, which also contributed to the ‘non-concert’ impression. And, joy of joys, there was – without the need for any announcement, disregarded or even heeded – no applause at the end. It would have been difficult to think of a more inappropriate response for the faith and dignity expressed in the final chorale.

The setting but also Biller’s direction made for a more natural progression from recitative to aria to chorale, and so forth, thereby granting a readier sense of a coherent whole. Drama was drawn from within rather than imposed from without. I for one wished to continue to ‘turn the pages’ as the story unfolded. Perhaps this is easier to attain in the Johannine Passion setting, with its preponderance of narrative thrust, but even so, it is hardly to be taken for granted.

The role of the Thomanerchor was once again worthy of the highest of praise. Sing Bach’s music almost every week as it might, such immersion does not always translate so readily into committed performance; here it most certainly did. Whether in the chorales or the extraordinary turba choruses, every word and every note sounded as if it were meant. Once again, an inconvenient fact that our ‘authentically’ minded performers choose blithely to disregard is that Bach’s music was unquestionably written for boys’ voices. The principle of jobs for the not so young boys, or rather girls, trumps ‘authenticity’ even on its own terms, a few honourable exceptions notwithstanding. My only care in such matters is how convincing the performance proves to be; this passed with flying colours. The turba choruses were terrifying in their portrayal of the savage mob. Direction was married to contrapuntal clarity to an extent I do not recall having heard previously; this also allowed Bach’s detailed orchestration to shine through. The viciousness of the Jews’ insistence that Pilate write should not write, ‘The King of the Jews,’ but rather that Christ had so styled Himself, was chilling indeed. Whilst the chorales were certainly not unshaded, there was none of the fussiness that had so often accompanied Chailly’s approach. When one heard the words, ‘Ich, ich und meine Sünden,’ for instance, the immediacy was palpable; the sins referred to me, not just to some impersonal subject. I had my part to play in Our Lord’s Crucifixion. Likewise, subtle stress could be placed on a particular word, such as ‘Dieb’ (thief) in ‘Christus, der uns selig macht,’ without distortion. That chorale, which opens the second part, set up starkly the overwhelming sense of predestination that so distinguishes this telling of the Passion from that of St Matthew.

Marcus Ullmann was an excellent Evangelist. His delivery was driven by the words but was careful not to disregard musical considerations. Even the occasional weaker passage, such as intonational insecurity on that extraordinary downward chromatic passage upon ‘weinete’ (Peter’s crying), was largely compensated for by dramatic conviction. The onamatopeia of Christ’s scourging was chilling and another, proclamatory register was revealed by the citation of Pilate’s writing of the title on the Cross: ‘Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews’. Friedemann Röhlig was a noble Christus, whom I really could not fault, exhibiting dignified fullness of tone and accuracy of pitch and diction. His fellow bass, Gotthold Schwarz had a considerable amount to do, both in his arias and in his assumption of the role of Pilate. He impressed in his various guises, exhibiting considerable versatility. Having a counter-tenor rather than a contralto – or, for that matter, a boy – lends a somewhat more operatic flavour to proceedings, or so it did here. Matthias Rexroth, bar a single slip, handled his treacherous part with great aplomb. Maximilian Schmitt delivered his tenor part with conviction and feeling. Sibylla Rubens was perhaps a little too light of tone but was at least accurate throughout. And an agreeable surprise was presented by an anonymous member of the choir popping up to sing the Maid’s single line. All of these ‘characters’, whether explicitly designated or no, contributed to the unfolding of the narrative. This was a moving experience indeed.

St Matthew Passion, Leipzig Gewandhaus/Chailly, 3 April 2009

Gewandhaus, Leipzig

Bach – St Matthew Passion, BWV 244

Christina Landshamer (soprano)
Marie-Claude Chappuis (contralto)
Johannes Chum (tenor: Evangelist)
Maximilian Schmitt (tenor: arias)
Thomas Quasthoff (bass: arias)
Hanno Müller-Brachmann (bass: Christus)
Klaus Häger (bass: Pilate, Peter, Judas)

Choir of St Thomas’s Church, Leipzig (choirmaster: Georg Christoph Biller)
Tölzer Knabenchor (choirmaster: Gerhard Schmidt-Gaden)
Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra
Riccardo Chailly (conductor)

Admittedly, I set myself up. Having listened, whilst on the train to Leipzig earlier in the day, to part of Klemperer’s recording of the St Matthew Passion, the opening chorus was bound to seem fast. However, I think Riccardo Chailly’s tempo for ‘Kommt, ihr Töchter, helft mir klagen,’ would be considered speedy even by contemporary – that is, ‘authentic’, in our Alice-in-Wonderland world of Bach performance – standards. What shone through, however, was an urgency born not just of tempo but of a highly dramatic view of Bach’s passion setting. Now there can, at least for some of us, be no doubt that the St Matthew Passion qualifies as music drama, in a contemporary – post-Romantic, non-authentic! – sense; but I am not sure that it lends itself so well as the St John Passion might to being driven by ‘action’ in a more or less conventional sense. Of course, there is a narrative, for some the greatest story ever told, but there is also contemplation, above all in the arias and chorales, but not only there. I worried during the opening chorus whether its almost breakneck urgency would be maintained throughout the work. Not quite, perhaps, but too much nevertheless. Sometimes this was warranted, for instance when Christ quotes Scripture on the Mount of Olives: ‘I will smite the shepherd and the sheep of the flock will be scattered abroad.’ Sometimes it might have worked, for instance in the tenor recitative (with chorale), ‘O Schmerz! hier zittert das gequälte Herz!’ but did not because the tempo was simply so fast that singer and orchestra were not always quite together. And on other occasions, for instance the chorale closing the first part, ‘O Mensch, bewein’ dein’ Sünde groß,’ which was taken at an almost unbelievably fast tempo, the sense of detachment was such that it is difficult to believe that it could ever have been warranted. A geometrical exercise, over in what seemed like record time, here supplanted a true response to the music, let alone the words. In this context, the considerable ritardando at the end of the chorus and, still more so, the extremely prolonged final bass note sounded like arbitrary ‘effects’, at odds with the general vision, flawed or otherwise.

This, despite superlative choral singing throughout from the combined forces of the choir of Bach’s own church, St Thomas’s, Leipzig and the Tölz Boys’ Choir. The choirs certainly lent a terrifying vehemence, on account both of their strength in numbers but also their agility, to the celebrated ‘Sind Blitze, sind Donner’ chorus, the anger fairly spitting, to the choral interjections in the previous number, and to the subsequent cries of crucifixion. The boys’ presence in two out of the three final numbers helped ensure a conclusion of promise not always born out by aspects of the performance beforehand.

Another baleful aspect of ‘period’ practice Chailly adopted wholesale was the virtual elimination of vibrato from the violins – and to a lesser extent, which in itself is perhaps a little surprising, from the lower strings. This seems to be quite the thing for conductors who, whilst using modern instruments, fancy themselves to be acting ‘authentically’. Even on its own dubious terms, the practice seems fatally flawed, however, not least given the ‘modern’ style of the rest of the orchestra, which therefore outshone the strings throughout. The bizarre exception was the viola da gamba, with considerable vibrato applied by Thomas Fritzsch, and all the better for it. Obbligato parts were generally taken very well by the respective soloists from the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra. I was especially taken with the oboe part in the tenor aria (with chorus), ‘Ich will bei meinem Jesu wachen’.

The vocal soloists were of mixed quality. Hanno Müller-Brachmann was straightforwardly excellent as Christus. His nobility and warmth of tone were matched by superlative diction and response to the text. It is a pity his string ‘halo’ could not have been warmer. Johannes Chum was a good Evangelist, again to be admired in his projection of the text, although I felt he could be a little fond of employing his head voice, the repeated effect bordering dangerously upon the sentimental and apparently contributing to occasional intonational difficulties. Chum’s rhetorical pauses seemed to be Chailly’s doing – all the recitatives were conducted – but were overdone, if not the singer’s fault. (They also seemed strangely at odds with the hectic nature of so much of the rest of the performance.) Marie-Claude Chappuis impressed by the instrumental quality of her voice, her line seemingly one of chamber music, first amongst equals rather than a ‘soloist’ as such. ‘Erbarme dich’ therefore acquired a sense of imploring from within, despite the lack of string vibrato. Klaus Häger did a considerable amount with his relatively small part. Christina Landshamer did nothing wrong but brought little out of the ordinary to her soprano numbers, which was a pity. Ironically, Chailly slowed the music down to great effect for her ‘Aus Liebe will mein Heiland sterben,’ imparting just the right sense of deliberate tread to the music. In the difficult tenor arias, Maximilian Schmitt sometimes sounded a little parted, although this was far from always the case. Thomas Quasthoff started off sounding somewhat out of sorts, especially in his first aria. He improved considerably, although he was certainly not helped by a tempo for ‘Gebt mir meinem Jesum wieder!’ so fast that I thought he would be impelled to grab Christ back for himself. That said, there were nice touches, such as a subtle emphasis on ‘Geld’, underlining the role of blood money in the Saviour’s betrayal. ‘Mache dich, mein Herze, rein,’ was undoubtedly heartfelt, although again the tempo was simply too fast.

And yet, the final chorus did not fail to move. Having veered between born-again ‘authenticism’ and strange neo-Romantic touches – surely the wonderfully slow tempo for the chorale immediately prior to the earthquake was inconsistent with so much else – Chailly settled upon a tempo which, if hardly slow, was perfectly reasonable. Once again, the choral singing was excellent and the orchestral sound was fuller than one might have expected. Enough of a sacred atmosphere was restored, or perhaps created, to render the ensuing applause an unholy intrusion.